


What can you buy with fifty thousand credits?

by MissUfo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Cody (probably), Emille Nelligan for a hot minute, F/M, Female Obi-Wan Kenobi, Grievous discovers nature, Grievous is also amnesiac and alone in this, Grievous is probably OOC in this, Grievous turns onto like, I'm Bad At Summaries, Kaleesh(Language), Maybe - Freeform, Minor Character Death, My First AO3 Post, Obi Wan gets herself in trouble and somehow no one expected it, Other, Slave Obi-Wan, The Invisible Hand, Warning:, can you tell, i dunno what angst englobes exactly, im not sure why i picked Mygeeto still, nevermind this is still crack, plot twist: this might be angsty, poetic Grievous, shock collar, slave market on Mygeeto, so dont expect quality out of this, some OCs but they dont stay long, the only reason I joined this site is for the tags, the tags make it sound dark but its really not, this has a great chance of taking a weird ass turn, undercover as slave, violence against slaves, you want to know who else is OOc in this?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2019-08-08 05:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16423319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissUfo/pseuds/MissUfo
Summary: Escorting Count Dooku on a mission to Mygeeto resulted in Grievous buying himself a slave. Suprise, it's Obi-Wan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!  
> So, this is my first ever posted fanfic. I have no idea what i'm doing, I just want to point that out.  
> Please enjoy, feedback is deeply appreciated.

The underground tunnels were bustling with life with droids and other lifeforms alike. The dark yellow lighting merely shaped the silhouettes of passersby’s, half because of a lack of care for the establishment on the market’s part, and the other so one could not recognize the buyers by glance.  
This was a slave market after all.  
Grievous walked behind the Count, barely giving a glance at the surrounding crowd around them, constantly moving. Instead, he kept his focus on the man himself, staring as he walked at a slow pace, looking at each well-lit stands, taking his time as he inspected them. Occasionally, his gaze wavered in the faceless crowd, but never for long before he went back to scanning the merchandise. He stopped to look at a stand where a large male Zabrak was displayed in a cage. He was well built, strong, and by the look of the tazing necklace around his neck, volatile.  
As suddenly as he had stopped to look at the lifeform, however, he went back to walking again.  
The cyborg had heard the Count had his life threatened by the Jedi recently. There were high chances that he was looking for a bodyguard of some kind, however his long life amongst the Jedi order seemed to have made him repulsed to buying slaves; The general had worked with the man in similar establishments and never did Dooku buy anything.  
As a shadow passed too close to comfort to the cyborg’s charge, he snapped his attention to the intruder of their personal space. The thing in question had not touched either of them and was out of their vicinity as soon as he noticed his intimidating mask, cowering away in fear.  
Good.  
Grievous scanned the surrounding crowd on lookout for any potential threats and finally got back to looking at the Count once that was done.  
They walked in silence for a few moments before Dooku stopped in front of another stand, actually stepping up to it this time.  
The stand displayed a wide array of young male and female Twi’lek attached to a restraining pole by lazer chains. They all wore tattered clothes, the males shirtless to show off their muscle mass, advertising their strength.  
Dooku did not seem interested by the merchandise, however, as he walked straight to the seller, adjusting the mask he had put on before entering the establishment.  
"Sig, I presume?" The Weequay clasped his hands together, seeming pleased someone recognized him with a simple glance.  
As any slave provider, he was well dressed, with a large dark green jacket sitting on top if his shoulders, embellished with black ribbon embroidery along the sleeves and pointy popped up collar. Under the pale yellow light of the stand, the green fabric alongside the buttons, made of a darker but similar material, reflected a slight sheen. Under the fancy apparel, a light cotton off-white blouse hung loosely around his torso, not buttoned correctly, and tucked in a thick black belt, holding up slack pants in a dark yellow shade. Grievous didn’t bother looking lower to take notice of his boots, as he did not really care about the man’s way of dressing in the first place; it just screamed arrogance from his point of view.  
"The one and only, my dear sir. How can I be of service?" his face shifted to cocky, a hairless brow raising. The tone of his voice seemed too exaggerated to be real, certainly a tone he faked while selling his merchandise.  
The cyborg quickly got bored of listening to the two man’s conversation, seeming as he did listen to Dooku explaining his whereabouts in the market.  
Sig was going to die, very soon.  
Grievous decided to entertain himself looking at the other stands, leaving the talking to his master. He was far less skilled than the count in such things, and anyhow, the large part of him that was metal and circuits calculated he’d serve no purpose in the negotiations whatsoever. Plus, ever since he climbed down the small freighter they used to travel to the planet of Mygeeto, a state of exhaustion had crept up on him, making the little flesh left in his body ache. The cold had not helped.  
Though his body was now almost entirely metal, it seemed it still severed exhaustion from working nonstop for months at a time. He grumbled to himself, thinking maybe he would use his personal funds to upgrade his energy resources once he had the chance. He nodded, content with the decision he had come up with, before staring at the stand to his left.  
The stand in question sold children of different races, said merchandise held in small cages stacked one on top of the other. He had turned his gaze just in time to look at the seller exchange a small human child to a cloaked individual for a bag of credits. The entire ordeal was done quite causally, as if it was just like buying some bag of vegetables.  
He looked around aimlessly at the other merchandise, pleasure slaves, work slaves, other child slaves… it was all around the same thing by the exception of species and presentation.  
Looking over to two stands next to Sig’s, he immediately zeroed in on a vibrant, beautiful shade of blue, before snapping out of it and growling at his loss of awareness. He turned back to Dooku, who was still casually talking with Sig, the cyborg not fully listening to their conversation.  
Grievous was not one to like nice things. He has always believed caving in such desires to just stop and stare at something beautiful was weak and useless.  
Beauty was something you could do little with. You could look at a beautiful thing, own it, but what was its purpose at the end of the day? Nothing, but a tool to weaken the soul.  
Power was more important than beauty.  
However, at that moment, in this time and place, he lacked the power to resist looking once more.  
Damned be what was left of his organic mortal soul.  
Dooku and Sig put in a corner of his mind, he slowly looked back where he had seen the mesmerizing blue. Now that he had some time to fully inspect the object it came from, he realized they were the color of eyes.  
The cyborg Squinted, curious; surely eyes could not be that color, it was too…singular, so be such a thing, he thought. For what little care he took in analyzing such features, he was quite certain he had seen that shade before. He couldn’t recall exactly where he’d seen it, but the part of him that still led to illogical conclusions like a flesh bag was certain to point out a replica of the shade should not exist in such a place.  
Curious, he strolled to the stand, not breaking away with the ever-curious irises. Maybe it was something from Kalee that made them so familiar. He couldn’t remember if there were rivers on the planet; or what color was the sky, but he quickly batted those thoughts from his mind  
No. It wasn’t from Kalee. It could not.  
As he got closer, he realized the bearer of the pale eyes was a human woman. She was draped on a small stand, showing off her pale body clad in revealing, heavily jeweled attire. A burgundy veil hid her face, only putting in evidence the bright pigment of her eyes. They looked directly at him, fear steeped through their reflection. Grievous had little to notice it, as this type of reaction was to be expected, but the hint of curiosity glittering deep beneath them took his full attention.  
Now, that reaction he didn’t see often.  
"Oh, interested in this lovely specimen, I see." An old, gritty female voice called out.  
The cyborg looked to his left, this time looking eye to eye with another human woman, old and short. She was well dressed, an embellished cloak hugging to her, and the strange tendril-like ornament stuck in her pulled-up hair seeming to retain her youth, but the illusion was broken once you looked at her hands, the cracked, veiny skin showing the true strain of time on her.  
"She’s a bit old, around thirty, but well trained. She can dance, sing, cook and knows how to read and write." She said in a voluptuous voice, arranging a stray lock hanging from her forehead. "And if you’re looking for safety, she’s a great fighter, with a bit of training she’d be a good bodyguard."  
Grievous looked back at the woman in question, the curiosity of her gaze seeming to have grown. Whatever she was before becoming a slave, it must have involved some sort of logic; her eyes reflected crystal clear intelligence.  
He could respect that. Her intelligence was probably why she survived so long in the slave trade. She evolved for survival. He inspected the dark colored makeup heavily surrounding her eyes, noticing how it had smudged slightly before dipping his gaze back in the twin oceans.  
"Are her eyes natural" He wondered out loud. The woman’s head tilted, that analyzing glance never the lesser.  
She seemed as interested in him as he was with her, as if he was the merchandise she was buying instead of the contrary. It was almost unnerving to be looked at in such a way, even if he knew he was doing just that himself.  
But there was the weakest but persistent thrill to it was well.  
"Ahh, yes, her eyes! They were probably what caught your attention, right" The woman sounded quite pleased, rubbing her hands together. "They are, as far as I know. I had her examined, and the guy said there was no trace of modifications. Wait, let me pull out the documents…" she ducked under her counter, the sound of rummaging filling the air.  
The cyborg paid it little mind, keeping focus on the girl. Though he was not one to care for attire, obviously as the only pieces of garment he owned were capes, hers seemed to frame her gaze, in this scenario, surrounding it with things as beautiful as itself. The outfit was almost entirely made of jewelry, climbing to her neck, hidden by the veil, to her chest in a large wavelike pattern. In stopped at her midriff, just over her waist. The second piece of her outfit, a long burgundy skirt fully showing her legs, had a belt hugging her hips, embellished in the same way as the top, with a few delicate chains hanging on her hips. Though her neck chain was out of sight, her handcuffs were large, almost impossible to miss.  
Seeming to catch on he was now interested in her outfit, she gracefully stood up, walking in small, slow circles to show it off.  
It seems his deduction on her intelligence had been correct. No one could mistake that analyzing stare. She moved around, showing every little shiny piece, slowing down when she noticed him linger on a detail.  
As alien as it was, he once saw this same stare elsewhere, but he couldn’t put a face on it.  
Had his sensors for face recognition bugged again?  
Any movement she did made the loose jewelry sing a delicate tune in the air, and it was the first time grievous cursed this place was so public, the bustling crowd was too loud and muffled the little air almost entirely. He could faintly hear bells, though they were not visible to his eyes. The slave, Ever the observant once, shimmied to amplify the sound, the drop-like beads hanging off her outfit dancing on her bare skin.  
"would you like to see her dance?"  
The old saleswoman had her head out from under her desk, hands lying flat on a holo-screen, the certification for the woman’s eye color being natural, Grievous assumed.  
A second passed, before he nodded, turning back to the latter. She had started to gently sway her hips, her head unmoving in the air. Standing on her stool, she was almost the same height as him. The gentle swaying created a melody of their own, and Grievous knew for a fact that it was bells now.  
Her dancing was slow and soothing, almost hypnotizing as the loose jewelry danced along with her, empathizing her movements. Through her gaze, the same curious, calculating look pierced through him, seeming to carefully monitor his reaction to her movements before slowly gaining more confidence in the stretch of her arms, which, as she had rightfully noticed, the cyborg saw as particularly interesting to watch, and more so now that she adjusted it just so.  
The spectacle, however, was short lived when the woman’s water-like movements suddenly stiffed, her muscles tense. As Grievous looked back to the mesmerizing blue of her eyes, the peaceful ocean imprisoned in them stirring through sudden dangerous waves.  
A few seconds passed before she started dancing again, putting more vigor into it, swaying quicker. It was as he frowned disappointingly to the now typical sensual dancing that he had seen millions of times before that he figured out what happened, noticing the dark leather peaking under the overflowing amount of jewelry around her neck. He turned to the old woman, and glared at the little device in her hand.  
She tazed her. He told himself he didn’t care, but the amount of offence that rose in him begged to differ, clawing at his back, traveling his circuits.  
He had the grave urge to reach for the stun baton attached to his belt and make the old harpy taste her own poison for daring to interfere with his entertainment, but the implicit order of Dooku not to make a scene stopped him from doing so.  
He turned once more to the slave girl, watching with less interest as she shook her hips at an amazing speed, making her heavy outfit dance along, the chains on her hips sliding up and down, up and down…  
He looked up to the blue sea of her eyes, the offending waves seemingly calmed down, her gaze closer to the initial gleam of curiosity that lit them up so wonderfully. She moved her arms along with her sways, gracefully emphasizing how her head stood leveled as she moved her core. It’s as her hands moved close to her face the cyborg noticed how dainty her hands were, little well-kept nails peeking out from under the stacked rings and the large chains bound to her wrists. Her eyes squinted, once more analyzing him, her gaze brushing the cloak he was wearing and the many details of his faceplate, she was taking her time, never rushing. It was a look he had seen before, she was sizing him, like one would before a fight.  
Oh, what a pleasant surprise.  
He promptly replied, looking over her build more carefully. She was well sculpted, but small in stature. From what he could tell, she was evenly proportioned, though her hips were a smidge larger than her shoulders. From what the old harpy had said, she knew how to fight, but Grievous would obviously overpower her easily, his own height, modification and experience advantaging him. At that conclusion, he straightened himself, making himself larger. He felt a tinge of satisfaction as the woman inspected his new stance, inspecting it with as much care as she had moments before, understanding their non-verbal exchange.  
As she finished, the slave woman’s gaze rose up to his. She seemed surprised and intrigued, raising her brow, her head tilting to the side ever so slightly, shifting from its previously immobile spot in the air.  
It seemed she was most interested in her audience, as much as the man that composed it was interested in her. Her eyes squinted, raising. The pools of blue suddenly gleamed with something he had never seen before in them, sparking on the now still sea trapped in her gaze, as if the sky suddenly cleared and reflected itself in the large, endless mass of water.  
And as quickly as it was there, as quickly did it leave. The woman had jerked once again, the oppressive waves suddenly back in full view, spilling from their containment and dripping down her cheek.  
Grievous glared once again at the harpy, who as before, had electrocuted her merchandise for making a mistake. She was lucky he had orders, because the cyborg would have wasted no time in ramming her skull on her desk. The sound of small metal pieces and bells filled the air once more, tugging at his attention.  
He looked over at the slave woman once more, realizing after a moment what she was doing; distracting him from causing a scene. Her eyes, though still caught in a storm, pleaded him to keep looking at her, slowing her dancing down momentarily to the slow, hypnotizing pace she had first stated dancing with.  
‘look at me, not her.’ The irises seemed to say.  
If Grievous was any more paranoid, he would have believed she had read the very same report he did before landing.  
Grievous raised a hand, asking the slave woman to stop dancing. She obeyed, her movements slowing to a still and the sing of her outfit diminishing along with it.  
They stared in silence for a good three seconds.  
"How much is she?" He was surprised at his own question.  
"She’s fifty eight thousand credits. Imperial." He frowned at the harpy once again, noticing how her friendly mask had now vanished.  
"Make it fifty." He replied, leaning closer to the old woman. He stood at an angle he knew he would take most of her vision, making him bigger and more intimidating.  
The woman winced just slightly.  
"Alright, fifty-seven."  
"No," He growled. "Fifty one" He put his hands behind his back, glaring harder at her.  
"How ‘bout this, you pay fifty six and I give you the necessary grooming supplies, free of charge." The woman crossed her arms, sitting back in her chair.  
"Make it Fifty-five." He replied, walking closer and taking more of her vision.  
"Deal." The woman grumbled, raising a hand for her payment.  
Grievous reached for his belt, taking the small satchel of money he carried around. He opened it, fiddled with the small pieces of currency until gathering the amount, and put it less than gently in the old woman’s palm.  
The woman double checked the amount, seeming content when she finished, and put it in one of the large hidden pockets of her robe. She then took her sweet time standing up, waddling to the back of the stand, pulling out a large bag. She then proceeded trot to the girl’s altar, shoved the bag to the red headed woman, and finally detached her retaining chain from the stand, handing it to the cyborg.  
"There, all yours. Now step aside, you’re scaring other buyers away." She commented coldly before turning her back to him and reach back her spot behind her desk.  
Grievous glared at her one last time before looking down at the slave he just spent fifty five thousand Imperial credits on. Now off her stand, she was shorter than he had anticipated, barely going over his waist. Her eyes were back to the flat calmness of curiosity, the tear that had broken through making the dark makeup around her eye melt in the stream it had created, slipping under her veil. The cyborg reached a claw at her face, persisting though she slightly flinched away, pressing it on the stain. He smudged it away, his claw leaving the soft skin after the deed was done. He looked down at the dirty metal, making his thumb rub against it before turning once more to his new charge. His sensors read the substance as warm and sticky.  
The woman, meanwhile, was distracted by the movement of his hand, fiddling with the bag in her hands.  
Grievous was about to move them to Sig’s stand, but the soft jiggle of bells reminded of the woman’s outfit; the lavish thing will draw attention to them, and being noticeable would be against them when Dooku would finally decide to kill the Weequay, which, from what he could tell at this distance, was not done yet.  
A smaller part of him also didn’t want to show off his brand-new buy to the shady establishment, but he quickly dismissed that thought.  
The other many things that made pretty things useless is that one would easily become attached to them.  
He cleared his throat, taking the redhead’s attention. He peeled his cloak open, presenting an empty space underneath it.  
"Get in."  
It took a second, but she did as was ordered, taking the little spot underneath his cloak. She let him put his hand around her shoulders, pressing her closer. Her body heat warmed his sensors. As he started walking back to the stand slowly, as to not let the, well, his, slave slip, he noticed Dooku was waiting for him just in front of it, arms grasped behind his back. He raised a brow at him, but said nothing, gesturing to follow him back from where the entered the murky building.  
Sig waved them goodbye, and fell to the floor only moments later, lifeless. Dooku had snapped his neck with the force.  
The man’s sudden death was enough of a distraction to make them blend in the crowd inconspicuously.  
\--  
Out of literally everything that could happen today, being bought by kriffing Grievous was not even in the list of things that she would of have thought of in her wildest dreams.  
Now Obi wan was hiding under his cape, pressed close enough she felt the cyborg’s armor lightly dig in her shoulder, as she held on to the tote bag with her "grooming supplies" as Effie, the woman who sold her, had called them.  
An undercover job involving the criminal clan the woman worked with that had turned awry had made her enter the slave trade as product, just making her further and further away from her initial goal, which was to see if the criminal clan in question sold Republic weapons to the Separatists on Repulblic territory.  
It seems Anakin was right when he said her disguise as a slave was stupid, because the clan leader had not like her dancing and got quickly got bored of her signing, and quickly was turned to the market to be re-sold.  
She would have broken free, if it wasn’t for her extreme misfortune the clan leader she was supposed to spy on was force sensitive and took the "precautionary measures" as he had called them, which just meant to get his guards to beat her up until she blacked out. When she woke up, she had a force restraining collar around her neck.  
She groaned inwardly, thinking back to her former padawan. Finding her would be near impossible now that her signal in the force was muffled.  
Hopefully her new owner, being a great enemy to the republic would make her search easier.  
Once Ani would find her, because of course he will, he’ll never let it down that Grievous bought her.  
She herself was still not over that.  
First and foremost, because what was he going to do with her? She was classed as an entertainment slave, surely, he wasn’t going to use her for sparring or body guarding. And as far as she knew, the Kaleesh was not a man of art, her entertainment acts would be useless to him.  
Secondly, she was still intrigued by how he eyed her while she danced. It was so different from the gaze of cold bloodlust he usually wore when they met on the battlefield, and for one who she thought devoid of any emotions, he seemed to really like staring at her bad dancing.  
And at her eyes.  
He really liked her eyes. The amount of awkward silent staring they had exchanged in under ten minutes was far beyond embarrassing.  
Even when she tried to make him falter from that calm mood she found almost alien in his eyes by sizing him, he just eagerly replied by sizing her as well, and clearly showing off his massive frame would beat her in a fight any day.  
At least that was closer to the death cyborg she knew.  
The redhead was pulled from her thoughts as they reached some stairs, light reaching in the cloak hiding her form outsider eyes, and Grievous was nice enough to climb slowly so she wouldn’t trip or fall behind.  
Grievous being nice, that was a funny one.  
The flight of stairs was quite short, and they went back to their normal walking pace when reaching the outside. The cold ground under her feet made her slightly shiver, feeling the dry dirt getting in between her toes. At least it wasn’t snow. She shuttered, reminded of the walk to the market; half a mile, barefoot in wet snow.  
They walked for about two minutes when the ground under her feet was replaced by a ramp, warmer than the dirt. The metal revealed another set of footsteps along with the General’s loud metal ones- more muted, boots, probably.  
The surrounding air brought a soft humming to her ears.  
A ship.  
They walked up the platform until the floor changed once more to a smoother metal surface, typical of freighter floors, signaling they were now inside.  
A soft hiss behind her revealed the ramp had closed behind them as she was led deeper in the ship, the rumbling underneath them subjecting the ship was now air bound. She clung closer to the body near her, the cape veiling her sense of direction and making her stumble around like some infant who had never walked on a ship.  
He arm laced around her shoulder clung closer, locking her pressed to the lukewarm cybernetic body of her owner. She looked at the cyborg’s torso, the light above making the heavy fabric see through enough to distinguish the silhouette of a long faceplate with two flat, half-moon fins sticking out from each side.  
She had single handedly won that running joke of a bet back at the temple on who could get closest to Grievous without getting killed.  
"What have you gotten yourself, Grievous?" Her head snapped to the right, to where the voice had come from.  
Oh please for the love of the force tell her the second present wasn’t-  
The cape opened up, revealing Count Dooku’s face.  
The situation had gotten from worse to kriffing terrible.  
She thanked the force for her force restraining collar; If it weren’t for it, she would have been dead long ago.  
The man inspected her meticulously, a hand rubbing at his bearded chin.  
‘’Lovely eyes.’’ The man commented, his gaze as stoic as ever. Obi Wan just stared back, confused at the compliment given by the man that had tried to kill her multiple times by now. ‘’But pray tell, what are you going to do with her?’’ The count’s gaze shifted to his general, finally giving a moment to the woman to breathe. Obi Wan looked up to the cyborg as well, curious about the answer as the Count.  
Grievous stayed silent for a long second before replying;  
"…It gets… lonely on my ship." Dooku raised a brow, not seeming satisfied with the answer he received. The redhead felt her lips tighten.  
Did Grievous, Jedi killer, really buy her on impulse? It was hard to beleive.  
If the situation wasn’t so unfavorable she would of laughed at this entire mess.  
"And how many credits did you impulsively spend on this young lady?" Another pause.  
"Fifty five thousand Imperials." The silver haired man frowned at him, smacking his lips. The redhead felt a metallic hand squeeze her shoulder, prominent, but not hurting.  
"It seems your negotiation skills still need refining." Dooku turned around, reaching for a door. "At least make sure she survives a month or two. You wouldn’t want your splurge to go to waste." The automatic door slid opened and shut behind the count.  
Obi wan looked at the dull, grey door, dazed. The clawed hand had softened its grip, pulling her along to another door.  
She hoped Anakin would find her quickly.


	2. The Invisible Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello there.  
> it's me,  
> again.  
> So this is shorter, mostly because it seemed more appropriate to divide it this way.   
> Also, as a fair warning this is where the clones are added to the story, Cody is OOC because i made him extremely stressed, and I recently learned clones are programmed not to feel stress? I might be wrong.   
> It's also to be noted that I don't know how a millitary organisation works.  
> Enjoy.

Not only had the cyborg bought her on impulse, it seemed he had no idea what he was to do with a slave, either.  
The travel from the Mygeeto to the General’s ship was spent entirely in silence, with nothing for her to pass the time than look outside the window to the blue stretch of hyperspeed. She’d dozed off on the ground near her spot on the windows.  
Once she woke up again, Grievous’ fleet was visible from the glass, and the smell of food was filling the room.  
After doing a little investigation, the source was sitting right next to her; a little square package. Its content was mostly greens, with some lentils and just the smallest amount of, from what she could tell by tasting it, some kind of potato cakes.   
She watched the view from the window as she ate, where the invisible Hand shone proud, surrounded by its fleet.   
Even if space was silent, it seemed to linger too quiet around the Dreadnought as it was at rest. Obi-Wan had always seen the ship amongst the flurry of space battles, surrounded by chaos, so seeing it not from an enemy line was, quite the strange experience, to say.  
Just as she finished her meal, Grievous came in and told her to follow him.  
Obi-Wan didn’t see Dooku when they boarded the Invisible Hand and neither did she inside the dreadnought. It wasn’t like copper haired woman could see anything in the first place; the cyborg prevented her from looking at her surroundings by carrying her under his cloak like he’d done at the market.

Once Grievous had transported her to his quarters aboard his ship, she had done nothing but sit on a low table as the general ordered her to do, before he left the room.  
That was two hours ago. She counted.  
The woman had also taken the time to reflect on her situation; Trying to escape would be nothing but suicide, and as much as she hated to admit, she was deemed too valuable to the Republic to let that happen. She could always search for information while she was here, but if she did, she’d have to be cautious. Grievous was a paranoid one, he would figure out if something was amiss.  
Not to mention, if she was to stay alive, she’d have to be careful not to blow her cover. It was quite a miracle neither the General or the Count recognized her.  
Funnily enough, what was a curse not even a day ago was now a blessing on that matter; the force restraining collar would keep her safe from Dooku, if the count ever came back around, and the vocal-restraining device they stuck to her while she was being transferred to the market would keep her from being accidentally recognized by her voice.  
But will all of that considered, the best course of action for now was to do as she was told. Being rebellious would draw the wrong kind of attention and might shorten her chances of staying alive.  
And so, she did as she had been told, and didn’t move from where she sat.   
She got comfortable on her table, anxious that the small thing might break under her weight as it creaked in protest.  
That table was definitely not made to hold a person.  
The red-haired woman reached for her bag, that she had left on the floor near the table.  
Just because she was to stay in one place, it didn’t mean she had to let the hours eat at her. She quickly rummaged through the bag, getting a grip of a fine-toothed comb. She pulled it out, reaching for the messy updo atop her head, taking the ribbon tying it together apart with her fingers.  
She carefully arranged her hair before passing the comb’s bristles through her locks, patiently working through a knot here and there. It was quite unnecessary, she had combed her hair while standing and doing nothing aboard the ship that transported them from Mygeeto, but it’s not like she had anything else to do at this very moment.  
She didn’t know how the time passed, as the white, windowless walls gave no indication of the time. Was it a minute? An hour? Who knew, really. The human brain is not the cleverest at measuring time with no point of reference.  
After she tired of combing her hair, she once again reached for her bag and decided she’d fix her makeup. Pulling out a small mirror and a stick of kohl, she passed the thick substance around her eyes, going over any areas that had smudged. She rubbed at the blotchy trail down her left eye as best as she could with a finger, but the stain seemed to persist it would not budge. She reached once more in her bag, rummaging for any kind of cleanser she could use. A certain interval of time went by before the woman found something that looked like it would do the trick.   
She didn’t wear makeup, usually, so anything surrounding it was just… out of her expertise.  
Obi-Wan poured a bit of the liquid on her finger, rubbing it in between her index and thumb, before applying it on her face. To her content, the dark, runny stain came right off. Curious, she then lifted her other hand, rubbing her wet finger on the green stain her cuffs imprinted on her. It also came off with relative ease.  
She took the product’s bottle, looking for a label. She might keep it, when she finally got rescued.  
That is if she had any left when that moment came.  
Of if it ever did.  
She stiffened, batting the thought away.  
Anakin would find her, she assured herself.  
\--  
"What do you mean, it’s been two rotations!" Cody snagged the holopad from Rex’s hands, the latter frowning at his vod’s rudeness.  
"Exactly what it meant." The blond clarified, crossing his arms as he watched the other read the datapad’s content in diagonals. He was doing that thing where he’d fiddle with his belt, like when he was nervous about something.  
"And no one realized a day ago?" The commander of the 112th sounded positively stressed.  
"The signal rotation is fourty eight hours- "  
"I know!" Rex stiffened at being cut. It’s been a good two weeks since General Kenobi went undercover as a slave in the outer rims, and the 112th had been merged with the 501st until she came back. In the meantime, Cody made sure to show off how much the entire ordeal stressed the daylight out of him by testing Rex’s patience.  
"Cody, would you just calm down- "  
"I am calm!" The blonde glared at the other.  
"Don’t speak over a superior, CC-2224!" He warned. He didn’t like highlighting that since the mission had been in progress, Rex was higher in command than Cody, but he was really overstepping his boundaries.  
Cody fell silent, glaring at the blond commander, before yielding, none too content;  
"Yes sir."  
"You’re not the only who’s nervous over her disappearance, Cody." He sighed, passing a report pad to his brother. "But to try not to let it affect your capacities while on duty." It was ridiculous he, of all people, had to scold his usually superior, Cody the Boy scout, but there he was.  
"Stay here to see if they capture a late signal and get someone to alert the Intelligence. I’ll go tell General Skywalker and we’ll wait for what he has to say." He ordered, before leaning in. "And knowing him, something will be done very soon, so don’t fret." Before passing next to Cody and out of the communication room.  
Cody watched him leave, worry never leaving him.  
\---  
She had brushed her hair.  
She had re-done her makeup.  
Made sure her outfit was laid correctly and detangled the jewelry that strayed from their place.  
And now she stayed there, doing nothing for what felt like a half an hour, before deciding she’d practice her steps.   
She’d never realize how slowly time went without the constant flurry of war and lack of meditation, an unfortunate side-effect of the force restraining collar.   
Sure, she could do forceless meditation, but she found it did nothing to soothe her compared to the Force assisted kind.   
She stood up from the small table, deciding it wouldn’t be able to take her weight, and settled her bare feet on the lukewarm metal floor.   
She put herself in the dance’s starting position and began swaying her hips, slowly as to make sure the movement was correct.  
In many ways, this was like practicing katas, she told herself. She repeated the movement over and over until she felt confident enough to speed up.   
She didn’t practice long, as just as she switched to practice another step, the door hissed open.   
She stilled and turned to face the door, trying to stay as still as possible. She decided it was better to stay up than get back to her seat on the table. Grievous, who was at the door, could see it as suspicious. If he didn’t like that she had moved from her spot, she’s sure she’d figure out soon enough.  
The cyborg stepped in, a hand clasped behind his back. He walked directly to her before handing her a small pack.  
"Eat." He said, as she inspected the box-like package. She looked up to the cyborg, curious.   
It was surprising there even was food on this ship. Could the General even eat? Probably not, she assumed, even if her knowledge of what exactly was still flesh behind all that metal and wires were still a mystery on her behalf.  
She opened it to reveal a very basic meal. A bit of what looked like grain products, next to some greens and what she could only assume was a source of protein. Probably common peas, telling by its color and smell. The entire meal was perfectly divided with half of it filled with greens and the other half divided once more for wheat and proteins. It almost looked identical to one of the examples of ration you’d see in a human’s nutrition guide.  
She realized, after a short moment, that’s probably what whoever arranged the food referred to.  
It was also more tasteful than anything she ever expected to be given from a ship inhabited by droids and a cyborg.  
She picked the little spoon that was laid atop the food, digging in the peas, before stilling, suddenly aware of the cyborg’s presence.   
Oh right, how would she eat without revealing her-  
The problem got quickly solved without her having to do anything; Grievous turned around, clearly showing he wouldn’t look. He walked over to a wall, opening a holo screen.   
Obi-Wan was confused just for a fraction of a second before remembering;  
Oh right, Kaleesh. Mask.  
She lifted her veil to put the spoon in her mouth, reveling in the taste of the peas. It was a bit bland, with no spices but it was way better than the tasteless protein mush the slavers had given her.  
She quickly wolfed down most of her plate, only leaving a bit of the grain product still in the pack. She put her veil back on her face, flattening it so the bottom half of her face would be properly concealed.   
Girevous seemed to notice she had finished, turning back from his lecture. He walked over once more to take the pack from her hands, noticing the bit of food she’d left but didn’t comment on it, by the exception of a grunt. He kept hold of it as he just stared at her in silence for a good while, the room completely void of any sounds except for the General’s static breathing.   
After what felt like a few long minutes, the general was the one to break the silence:  
"You, sing, yes?"  
The copper haired woman blinked once, twice, processing what the cyborg had said.  
She nodded, awaiting what Grievous would do next with the confirmation. Maybe he was curious as to why she didn’t speak? No, he’d be blunter about it. This was a side of Grievous she’d never encountered before, but she was almost certain how direct he was would be left unchanged, if referring to the past orders he’d given her:  
"Sit there."  
"eat."  
It wasn’t so far from the machine-like train of thought she’d experienced while facing against Grievous before and she held onto that.  
Even if the cyborg wasn’t directly threatening her life now and she had a newfound advantage; Grievous’ cultural instincts didn’t make him curious about her face, it didn’t mean she could relax just yet.  
She flinched slightly when the cyborg in question reached a clawed hand towards her.   
Her reaction drew a growl of discontent from him as he pressed on, clasping his hand to her throat.  
Not wanting to irritate him more than was needed, she fought against her instinct to grip the claws around her neck, instead crisping her finger on the adorned chains around her hips.   
The woman was happy to realize Grievous wasn’t, in fact, trying to strangle her as he deactivated her voice restraint and drew back.  
"Then sing.’’ He simply said, squinting his golden eyes. He turned away and back to the holo screen.  
Obi-Wan took a small step back. She had anticipated this would be his response, but she needed a moment to stomach it, it seemed.  
There it was, the dark face of Grievous she was so ill acquainted with.  
She took a deep breath, thinking of what she could sing.  
She couldn’t really base herself on what she believed Grievous liked, because well… He was Grievous.  
She finally settled on an old song from Tatooine Anakin thought her. It wouldn’t be suspicious for a slave to know a song or two from there.  
Taking a small breath, she started faintly, testing the waters as she looked at the general’s back.  
She’s be lying if she wasn’t curious what kind of response the cyborg had to music.  
Grievous perked up, for just a moment, before slowly turning back to his lecture. His posture was seemed to tense for just a fraction of a second before settling back. Maybe the light was doing tricks, but he seemed more slumped than before.  
How intriguing.   
It wasn’t really a good time or place to be curious, but it got to the better of her as she sung more eagerly than before.   
The cyborg perked up once more, ducking his head ever so slightly in her direction.  
Peculiar. She didn’t dare sing more eagerly than before, a part of her fearing she’d annoy him and make him lash out, or, even worse, accidently make her tone too recognizable. The fiery haired woman did, however, put more effort in the quality of her voice.   
This entire situation was kind of bizarre, from a certain point of view; A Jedi, sworn enemy of The General of the Separatist’s droid army, was sitting in said cyborg’s quarters and signing him a sappy tune about a pirate getting drunk and flirting with a barmaid.   
Yet here they were.  
Grievous turned back to whatever it was he was reading, resting an arm behind his cybernetic back.  
They stayed like that for the few minutes the song lasted, and as Obi-Wan’s voice died down, the cyborg spoke up once more.  
"Sing another one."  
Simplistic and direct, like always. Obi-Wan wondered, just for a moment, if it was the result of working solely with droids for so long.  
She did as was asked, settling this time on a Twi’lek tune she’d been thought while learning the language.  
The song wasn’t as cheery as the song from Tatooine, but it was the second most obvious thing a slave would have known from her own arsenal.  
As the first few notes of the melody left her mouth, the General tilted his head to her once more. He lingered longer before turning fully around this time to face her as she chanted along.   
The strange look from the market was back.   
She didn’t let it waver from her task, focusing on signing each syllable correctly as she looked into the cyborg’s golden eyes. They both stood still, looking over each other’s reaction to their own.   
In a curious impulse, the red headed woman started swaying side to side, gently, to the melody of her own voice. The bells hidden under the heavy jewelry of her outfit signing along with her softly.  
The golden eyes seemed to lose a part of its edge.   
So, she was right, he really did like those little bells.   
She thought it didn’t make sense but upon looking at his metal body, it suddenly did.  
Most of his senses must have not been like they were before. Since before he became metal and circuits atop of flesh and bones. As a being whose head was constantly soaked in the lingering force, she wondered what it would be like, not being able to touch things like you could before, or taste, hear and smell. Even now, with the force being muffled by her restraining collar, she found her surrounding so empty, as if she was a fish ashore.  
Anakin had told her, once, that his prosthetic hand could feel, but it was almost, how had he said it? Fuzzy, lacking.  
Grievous felt that, but instead of being a single hand, or a single arm, it was almost his entire being.   
So, she kept swaying, letting him hear the soft thrill of the bells, pouring more effort in her voice as the cyborg’s gaze bordered on surprise.   
His gaze was… soft?  
Well, as soft as those soulless yellow eyes could get.  
They kept staring at each other for a good second before the cyborg moved back to the holo screen. He was hunched, his posture slumping. He looked tired, somewhat.  
She felt uneasy that she was allowed to see the Grievous like this, to see the usually dark side of the General she didn’t know.   
As a General herself, she knew she avoided showing when she was tired or weakened down in any way. Being tired was something you could only afford on your own.  
As she finally sung the last notes of the song, stilling her swaying to let the silence slowly eat the thrum of the bell away, Grievous raised a clawed hand, asking her to stop.  
He picked a holo pad, docked to the holo screen, before turning around once more and walking up to her.  
"You can read basic?" He asked, handing her the device. She took it with a certain slowness, debating if she should respond with speech. She decided she’d rather not and nodded as a reply.  
"Then learn this." He gestured to the content of the pad. She looked down to the device in her hands, displaying a written document.  
She recognized, by the many elongated syllables, abrupt stops by apostrophes and the many "sh" found in the text, that it was Kaleesh.  
When she looked back up, Grievous was making his way to the door.  
"It’s getting late. If you want to sleep, use the bunk. I Don’t use it." He threw over his shoulder before the door slid open and shut after he passed through the frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a moment to aknowlege the ones who left Kudos and a comment on the last chapter, I wasn't expecting anyone to actually do it, so thank you a lot!


	3. Rain Planet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello it's me, UFO.   
> I am back for my revenge.  
> So I realised, while researching (I made research can you beleive) that what lays on the horizon of this fic might be... a bit more serious than I initially intended.  
> but for now enjoy somewhat fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up a Kaleesh word for this. Did you know there's only four words of the language we officially know?  
> Because of that, I chose the pronunciation of the word to be more loose on the mouth, since I drew a pattern out of the four words, that the ones with more neutral or poetic meanings had a similar tone.

Rex had not been joking when he said Genral Skywalker acted quickly; Not a day had passed, and they already had an entire rescue mission planned out, with three alternative plans if things went south.  
And, in Skywalker fashion, the council had caught no wind in the matter. In fact, everyone had been given strict orders to keep the entire ordeal under wraps; it was classified to anyone who wasn’t aboard the ship in the past 24 hours of General Kenobi’s ‘’official disappearance’’.  
Cody had wanted to ask the General why it was kept such a secret, but it only took one look at the young man’s face to keep his mouth shut.  
Out of any Jedi the commander of the 212th had encountered, General Skywalker was the absolute worst in hiding his emotions.  
The cruiser had been on full drill for a deployment to the outer rim for two hours now; Everyone was busy counting rations, medical supplies, ammo. They could only do with what they had, which, luckily for them, was plenty enough considering they were blockading some small planet deep inside the Republic’s territory. It was apparently one of the two single control points needed for a direct jump to Coruscant. Star pilots called it the forty-fives Jump, apparently because of the stating and end jump were almost canted exactly at 45-degree if you measured them from an imaginary straight line through the two control points, which made the jumps some of the easiest to get from inner to outer rim quickly and efficiently.   
Or at least that’s what the General told them. Cody didn’t really have the time to do the math.  
“Cody! Is the council still off our backs?” Commander Tano’s voice came through his comm.  
“Yes sir. No unusual encryptions came through and we’re keeping up with the twelve-hour rotations field reports. The last two we constructed seemed to fly under the radar.” He affirmed, double checking the holo-screens for the credibility of his words.  
“Great! How long do you esteem they won’t notice?” Cody turned to the communication engineer at his right, Mach. The younger clone signed they had approximately another 1.35-report rotation before they’d start to suspect.  
“One, Commander.” Mach glared at him for just a moment before whipping his head back to his screen.  
Mach did always hate when the other troopers rounded his numbers too much. An engineering thing, probably.  
“Alright, then ask your men to get ready; you won’t have much time to prepare. Skyguy will be waiting for you in the main hanger.” And with that, the communication was shut off.  
It had been a relief that the 212th was mostly assigned as the extract team, the commander was sure he’d have bitten his nails raw if he’d been told to stay behind. Many of his men would have done the same.   
He turned to the communication’s main door and left for the main hanger.  
\--  
Now that she had a data pad, it was a lot easier to keep track of time.  
The equivalent of about two days standard rolled through without seeing Grievous. He hadn’t made a single stop to his dorms to sleep, which wasn’t surprising, considering he did tell her he didn’t use his bunk.  
She looked at the mattress underneath her. She hadn’t really left the bunk since she woke up, about four hours ago.   
She hated to admit it, but the General’s bed was quite comfortable.  
It was also immense; It had probably made to accommodate the cyborg, but, with her smaller frame, the bed felt like a huger luxurious mattress, the kind she’d sleep on while visiting her noble friends.  
She had spent most of her listless time practicing her dancing and learning the text the cyborg gave her a few days before- It was a song, the woman quickly learned, a song.   
The more she stayed on the Invisible Hand the more she learned one surprising thing after the other about its General.  
It was obvious this was a song. Though the Jedi didn’t know what it was about, the expressive tone of the overall melody made it difficult. Thank the force the text was interactive, there were some passages she really couldn’t figure out how to say just by reading them.  
She took a sip of water from a bottle resting near her, before going from the top.   
A droid came to give her food and water an hour before, presented in the same way than the last ones she received. She had quickly eaten the food and was happy that the droid let her keep the bottle. There was no way she’d drink the large bottle in one sitting. She remembered Anakin had done something of the sort when they came back from a mission on a desert world, by the start of the war. The results were disastrous.  
She stopped signing and cringed. Yes, a disaster she really didn’t need right now.   
She went over the line she’d stopped on once more, reading aloud slowly, making sure she got the pronunciation right, before testing it in chant.  
She couldn’t sing it just like the female recorded just yet, but at least she could hit the notes. The way she sung was so guttural and heavy on the throat Obi-Wan literally choked on her own breath when she tired to imitate it for the first time.  
Usually, she would have persisted until her vocal chords gave out from stubbornness, but with her situation she wanted to avoid getting injured at all costs. Injury meant a visit to the medicals, where they probably would try and take her veil off. Every functioning droid on this ship would recognize her face in a heartbeat.   
And kill her on sight.  
Best she goes from the top once more.  
She was able to sing the song in its entirety twice before the quarter’s doors hissed open. The woman paid it no mind until the heavy clatter of the footsteps made it obvious it wasn’t a standard battle droid.  
She whipped her head to the bunk room’s doorframe. She couldn’t see much of the living area at this angle. She tensed a bit, sitting up on the balls of her feet  
The footsteps stilled, as if their bearer was listening, or looking around. The woman felt her breath start to waver.  
Did Grievous figure her out?  
Did he send an assassin droid after her- No the steps were too heavy, it couldn’t be?  
“Slave, show yourself.” All tension melted away at the sound of the staticky voice.  
Oh.  
It was just Grievous.  
She snorted at her thoughts. Just Grievous? Yes, as if the murder machine in the living room was no big deal.  
The redhead really hated being disconnected for the force. She felt blind without it.  
She stood up and fixed her outfit and veil before heading out to the living area, where the cyborg was positioned near the small table she sat on the first night in the quarters.  
She gave a curt bow, not moving forward. She hadn’t been asked to, and after doing a quick once-over of the General, she preferred staying at a distance.  
He was a mess.   
His armor was utterly soiled and broken on the edges. The light-colored plating had a distinct sheen, which upon further inspection, was caused by water dripping off it. He was standing in a way, so his arms were slightly raised, something resembling what her former student did when making fun of how she looked when she stood under the rain for too long.  
She’d been the laughing stock of the 501st for a week afterwards.  
But looking at it without suffering of embarrassment herself, she had to admit it looked kind of ridiculous.  
The Cyborg’s eyes were squinted in a glare. A drop of water ran down his faceplate, over his eye, before falling in, making him squeeze his eyes shut and growl in discontent as he raised a clawed hand to his face.  
Obi-Wan started shaking.  
This was Grievous, Jedi killer. He’ll kill you if you laugh. She chanted in her mind repeatedly, trying to die her imminent fit of laughter down.   
Happily, a door to their left opened and out came a droid, taking the cyborg’s attention away from her.  
“Master! Where in the stars did you go to get like this!”  
“Raining planet.” The General grumbled, Shaking his hand. Water fell everywhere.   
“This isn’t good for your inner workings! You might be waterproof but that’s no excuse to throw yourself in a lake!” The little droid crossed the room in a little trot and reached another door, turning back to his master. “Reassure me, you didn’t do that, did you?”  
A pause.  
“Jedi scum pushed me in.” The cyborg muttered, not content in the slightest. He followed the little droid, who kept shouting at him he was reckless, and how he’d have to dismantle this and that, complaining it would take way too much time.  
“And before I can even do any of this, we’ll have to clean you up, which will take at least half an hour…” The little Droid ranted, before turning to Obi-Wan. “You! Clean him, will you?” He ordered, before Grievous kicked him.  
“Don’t order her around! I can clean myself.” The cyborg growled, opening the door in front of him and stomping in.   
The little droid just got back up, not fazed. He turned to the woman once more.  
“At least clean the floor.” He said, following the General.   
“I said don’t order her around!” Grievous shouted, out of view. “This room has a maintenance droid!”  
The little machine said nothing in reply as the door closed behind him.  
As soon as the hiss of the door diminished, Obi-Wan slumped on the doorframe near her.   
Fist, the strange reaction, now this?  
The strange reactions, she could cope with; After all she never saw Grievous outside a fight before now, it was understandable he was different while not fighting, but being defended like that? It’s almost like he didn’t want the droid to see her as a slave, that she didn’t have to do manual tasks.  
The woman was quite aware that even as entertainment slave, that didn’t stop people from making her do other tasks than entertainment; While she was still a slave for the criminal gang, they made her clean the floors and tables, along with the others.  
But then again, Grievous had sort of proved he doesn’t really know what to do with a slave.  
While she was having an internal debate on the General’s new series of actions, the maintenance droid detached itself from the wall across the room with a small click. The small box-like thing took no time to roll to the mess of mud and water the cyborg had left behind before starting to clean.  
The little white noise of vacuuming took the Jedi out of her haze, watching as the little machine rolled around, hard at work.   
She stared at it almost an entire minute before the door where Grievous and the droid hissed open once again.   
It was the little droid.  
“The General wants to see you.” He said, monotone.   
Obi-Wan complied, stepping over to the door and followed the droid though its frame.  
The room was a dark silver all over, the walls covered by shelves full of different devices and pieces that looked like Grievous’ own metallic body. There was a long table near a corner of the room with strange instruments hanging over it.   
The other side resembled its sister by the exception of a rectangular dip in the wall, where Grievous sat on a bench, scrubbing dirt off his chest plate with an old rag that has probably seen better days. There was a small bucket of water sitting near him, which upon closer inspection, contained what looked like dirtied, brown water.   
The cyborg turned to the other in the room, focusing on the ginger.  
“When I call for you, you stay near me until I say otherwise, understand?” He said, shoving the rag in the bucket, making some of its content leak on the grated floor.   
The woman nodded in reply, showing she would do as asked. The cyborg gestured for her to walk over as he reached for the bucket with his other hand, grasping the piece of cloth once more.  
He scrubbed a patch of mud on his right arm, grumbling, though barely audible.   
She stood right next to where the lukewarm metal floor stopped to leave place to a grated one. The small compartment was obviously made for cleaning, with supplies like metal sustaining soap and something that looked like an anti-rust agent resting on a tiled shelf at waist level.   
It was kind of strange to look at, even if it was obvious all of this was necessary of maintain the General’s cybernetic body.   
She was really surprised something so casual seemed so… out of place in her mind, when it came to Grievous. She suddenly was reminded of when she sung to him, just a few days ago, how seeing the edge melt out of his eyes had surprised her so much.  
She really didn’t think of the cyborg as sentient as much as she initially believed.   
It was strange, to think of a sentient just like her and anyone else, could have slaughtered so many of her own.   
She might have done it because it was easier for her own mind to think of him as just a monster in a metal body.  
People tend to do that when faced with something they didn’t understand, just exclude it from what they, themselves were. She’s seen it a million times. That’s how wars started. It brought conflict and pain.  
She wavered, watching him as he dunked his rag in the dirty water of the bucket once more.  
She remembered she specifically made her padawan meditate on his own similar thoughts for the Zygerrian. It didn’t go far, of course but she realized a bit better why she’d failed to convince him it was important not to hold that grudge.  
Because she did the exact same thing.  
She raised a hand, taking the General’s attention.   
She pointed to the bucket, squatting and wrapping a hand on the object’s handle, looking back at the cyborg questioningly. He stared right back, seeming curious.  
He let his hand out of the bucket, letting the cloth in, watching what she would do with it.  
Obi-Wan straightened up, bucket in hand as she walked over the gritted floor. She could feel the small divides under the skin of her feet, slightly uncomfortable but not painful in any way.  
She squatted near a tap attached to the farthest wall, tiled, unlike the rest of the room. She took the bucket and poured its content through the floor, down the drain below. The woman then put the bucket upright underneath the tap, turning it on.   
She put a hand under the jet, adjusting the water so it was just hot enough her skin could still withstand without being burned.  
There wasn’t much she knew about cleaning, but she knew hot water cleaned better than cold.  
Obi-Wan turned around to the General, still sitting where he was once before. He was still staring at her, hands on his knees, like the redhead was the most interesting thing he’s seen.  
Feeling a strange flutter brushing her back, she pointed to the cleaning supplies, near enough she could grab them. The woman picked the one closest to her up then letting it down, then repeated it with the bottle next to it before pointing at the products once more, not breaking eye contact with the cyborg.  
“It’s the red one.” He explained, looking at her stretched arm. The copper haired woman felt her lips twich, content she was understood.  
She stretched her hand to the red bottle, like Girevous instructed her, before turning back to the bucket, now half full. She quickly skimmed over the instructions at the back before pouring the right amount in the water and stirring it with one hand as she put the bottle back on the shelf with its sisters.  
Once it seemed there was enough water inside the bucket, she turned the tap off and reached for the old rag that had fell on the gritted floor when she poured the dirty water on it. She squeezed it, cringing at the brown water and mud remains going on her hands as she wrung it, before putting it in the new, clean water in the bucket.   
Finally, she stood up, taking the container by the handle and carrying it to the spot it was once before, setting it on the floor gently. She let go of the handle and straightened up, staring back at golden eyes.  
They stared at each other for a good three seconds, inspecting for reactions to the event that just occurred. The cyborg still looked at her with that strange, curious look, which did nothing to soothe she kind of chill gripping at her nape.  
She felt like she wanted to crumple in a ball somewhere under that stare, but she stood perfectly still, her own curiosity keeping her grounded.  
Grievous finally broke off their staring contest to look at the bucket. He reached a hand to it, taking the old piece of cloth floating at the foamy water’s surface, before passing it over his arm, scrubbing away some grime nesting there, before taking it away and in front of him, inspecting it.  
Grievous, content with his inspection to the old thing, got back to scrubbing.  
“…Thank you.” The cyborg said, barely a whisper. The comment made the woman forget to breathe for just a moment, taken aback by the sincerity it seemed to carry.  
She bowed before walking back to her spot just outside the gritted zone. Standing on the floor riddled with holes hurt, after a while.  
She stood there, watching Grievous clean himself for a few minutes, the only sounds in the rooms being the clatter of the little droid, going about out of her view.  
Obi-Wan wondered, watching the cyborg scrub away dirt on a piece of his leg, if he could feel she’d used warm water. The cloth was terribly cold when she had wrung it.  
“Slave, it reminds me, I haven’t given you a name.” The gritty voice of the General snapped her back to the present. He was turned towards her, staring at her eyes once more. He leaned in closer, making the woman slightly nervous. It wouldn’t make sense for him to hurt her right now, but it didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. “I don’t want to keep calling you slave…” He grumbled, yellow eyes squinting.  
Instead of focusing on what could go wrong, she decided to stare back, curious on what he would do or say. It pained to admit her, but she was quite eager to see what kind of name the cyborg would pick. Whatever it would be, it surely would be a pleasant surprise, because she hadn’t the slightest idea where he’d go with it.  
“Ashlilla.” He finally said, his eyes were soft, like they had been a few days before. “You’ll be Ashlilla.” He repeated, seeming pleased with himself.   
Obi-Wan was correct, she would have never guessed that.  
She would have guessed even less that she had heard that exact word before; in the Kaleesh song she was revising maybe an hour prior.  
Maybe it meant something?  
There were great chances so, if she’d heard it in a dialect.  
Grievous got back to his initial task, dunking his old rag in the water and passing it over his leg once more.  
The redhead passed a hand through the jewelry of her belt, giving off the softest jingle of its hidden bells.   
Ashlilla huh?  
It had a certain ring to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! Ashlilla is the word I made up. I initally planned for Obi-Wan to be named blue or something along the line, but I think, with the fact Obi-Wan is playing somewhat mute in this, that ashlilla could be a word to specifically describe someone or something that is expressive with everything but with words, that if translated roughtly would say "loud silence" or something of the sort.  
> but I don't know, making words is hard. .>. Maybe Ill change the meaning later on, we'll see.


	4. Red Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ullo.  
> I am happy to say I have made more research for this chapter, and the story is now a bit more anchored on when exactly it would be happening in the series' timeline.   
> Please enjoy panakin Anakin, Cody stressing out(again. I don't care if it is really canon the clones can't feel stress-in this he's stressed 100% of the time.) and Grievous discovering nature(i.e plants. I made up an entire new kind of tea for this.)  
> As always, feedback is deeply apreciated!

Four days.  
They’d traveled hyperspace for a single day to reach the criminal outpost. Sneaking in was no difficulty, as General Skywalker’s plan turned to be, as all his plans were, utterly insane but efficient.  
It consisted of entering the same way General Kenobi had, but as bodyguarding slaves instead of entertainment ones.   
Passing under the radar had been the hard part, it seemed; It was laughably easy to make the other bodyguarding slaves’ rebel against their masters, which got the entertainment slaves and even the pleasure slaves involved.  
Four days was all it took for a rebellion, and the base to get overrun by the slaves and the undercover troopers. The idea of rebellion had been so enticing that almost all the slaves in the establishment joined in, resulting in the crime lords being outmanned many, many times.  
In their excitement, however, the slaves had killed the one in charge.  
And there went their easy ticket to General Kenobi, thought Cody as a Togruta male stuck the man’s head on a pike while a crowd of newly freed slaved cheered in a circle around him.  
He looked to General Skywalker, looking at the near where the commander was standing, with a frown. He didn’t look as disrupt as he had back on The Negotiator, but the situation clearly irritated him.  
Still, he had done nothing to stop the slaves from brutally killing the human male. Quite the contrary; He had assisted the slaves into strapping him down to a pole and had just watched as they riddled his chest with holes by means of blaster fire.  
They’d never meant for it to turn in such a carnage. After all, in this system, slavery was perfectly legal, and so them, being part of the Republic military, partaking in a slave revolution resulting in the death of over hundreds of citizens, was going against every possible law against corruption Cody had ever learned.  
But they still ran along with the orders.  
The commander would have been angry at the General for getting rid of the single thing they’d come all the way here for, but happily, he kept his tongue, and if the General could sense his anger, he made no mention of it.  
“Cody, make your men search the base for any clues of Obi-Wan’s whereabouts. Me and my troops will try and get something from them.” The young man ordered, gesturing the crowd of cheering slaves with his chin.  
“Yes Sir.” Cody managed to say before walking off.   
A surgical sweep of the base revealed this rescue mission was starting to get a lot more complicated than everyone involved had planned; There were no records of “Ben” leaving the criminal outpost, the name that General Kenobi chose for her undercover persona. they did find thousands of transaction and trading records, but after sorting them to find the ones dating the least far back, there was no sign of the General.  
They’d changed “Ben’s” name, it seemed.   
And they forgot to update every document, to their dismay.  
General Skywalker’s own searches bared no better fruit; Not a single soul knew who Ben was.  
Even in description, it was useless. Apparently, their former master was a sucker for Stewjoni women, who all bared firery hair and either green or blue eyes. He also, apparently, got bored easily of them if they didn’t fit his “standards” when it came to their signing or dancing, and so having them rotate in an out was extremely common, to the point no one even tried to befriend the poor women in their first week or so in the establishment.  
Just great, thought Cody as he stocked up the last of the selling records in his belt pouch. These would take weeks to go through, even more to find his General!  
He felt anger boil through him, along with the terrible, helpless feeling he hadn’t dismissed since the woman left the Negotiator. These were weeks they might not have! The woman was out there, alone, probably far away from safety, with no means of communication.  
The Commander turned to the vase sitting innocently on the floor a few feet away from him, stomped to it, and kicked it as hard as he could. When he found that wasn’t enough, he stomped on the remaining cracked bits in the dirt.  
He hated that he couldn’t do more, hated this reminded him of the Rako Hardeen act, hated-  
“Cody- “General Skywalker. The Jedi stilled in front of the door hole, looking at him with a bit of an air of surprise.   
The clone just stopped his foot in midair snapped out of his blind rage. He looked back to the newcomer before slowly putting it down on the ground, over the small dried clay bits, crinkling under the weight of his soles. He turned to face the brunette, standing in attention.  
“Sir.” He replied, saluting. He hoped his tone didn’t sound as tired as he felt.  
The young General said nothing, crossing his arms while he spared a glance at the broken vase underneath the boots of Cody.   
The commander of the 212th winced under his bucket, hoping General Skywalker wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t feel he could stomach it right now.  
Skywalker, thank the maker, didn’t open his mouth. He just silently walked over to the other man in the room, still looking at the shattered pieces mixed in the dirt.  
He stopped once they were just a few feet apart. The brunette looked at the small drawer to his right, and so did Cody, curious on what took the general’s attention.  
General Skywalker reached to it and picked up a glass ashtray from its flat surface, littered with dust. He inspected it, turning it around and taking it all the small traces of time upon its surface, before throwing it violently at a wall.   
The object bouced off the hard sand concrete in a million pieces, butchering the silence in the room with the impact.   
The General reached for a small glass, also on the drawer, and threw that one at the ground with the same vigor as he did with the poor ashtray, before using the force to fling the entire drawer at a wall, destroying the piece of furniture.  
Cody took a step back, looking at the pile of artificial wood now lying on the ground, before turning to the young man, who was glaring at the mess, breathing heavily.  
The commander distanced himself slowly, looking down to the dust-covered ground as the Jedi snapped his attention to him.  
“We’re leaving.” The brunette said bluntly before turning around and leaving the room.  
The other man stood there, taking a breath, before following the Jedi out the door.  
\--  
Since the rain planet incident, Grievous came back to his quarters once more around two days later. He’d brought her food and requested she’d dance for him, and after a half an hour, he was gone.  
The day after that, he stepped in once more, this time requested she’d sing the song from Tatooine to him. After that was done, he walked to the room where she had seen him clean himself, but this time it was, it seemed, to maintain his metal body; he used a few tools to synchronize his joints and then tightened or loosened something here and there. The small droid made an appearance afterwards, seeming to run tests on his master’s exoskeleton while the latter asked the woman how she was doing with the Kaleesh song.  
She replied with a simple thumbs up, which seemed to satisfy him. After gesturing if he wanted her to sing it, the cyborg told her not to, which was a bit surprising; wasn’t that the purpose of the song? So he could listen to it?  
“That song, it’s not to just sing without context.” He explained, answering the untold question before the droid moved made something budge which didn’t look like it should, by the glare and sound of discontent coming from his patient.

The cyborg quickly recovered, however, and turned back to the copper haired woman. “It’s made specifically to welcome a warrior back home.”  
Oh.  
“In a few days from now, I’ll get sent off. You’ll sing it when I get back.” The cyborg told her as he stood up from the steel table, ignoring the little droid’s complaining as he walked off. After that he was out the door once more.  
The day after, the General showed up once more. He didn’t request her to dance or sing, this time he just…  
Talked.  
Mostly about how stupid and incompetent his droids were. He had a more flavorful dialect when it came to insults than she had previously thought.  
Honestly, she wondered why she was still caught off guard when the cyborg did anything surprising anymore, it was, quite literally, a daily occurrence.  
After that he was, like expected, out on campaign.   
Sitting on the cyborg’s bunk, which had become her favorite spot to spend her time, she read over another song Grievous had given her to learn, just before leaving. It was also Kaleesh, as complicated at the first, though it bared a melody that wasn’t as technical.  
She wondered, clinging to the dark sheets she wrapped around her, what purpose this one had.  
The woman couldn’t really use her knowledge of Kaleesh culture in the matter, considering how limited it was, by the exception they were a race known for war, and their attachment to their face masks.  
Taking Grievous as an example was no help either; The cultural habits seemed so deeply engraved in him it was more a second nature, something that was cloaked in his very being and personality, than just forces of habit. Because of this, the ginger never really knew whether his actions or trail of thoughts were truly based off himself, or if it was just something he’d grown with; If one didn’t pay attention, it was like the General had no culture whatsoever.  
The woman frowned at her screen at that; She’d had to remedy to that once she got back. This could be extremely important, considering how often they clashed with the cyborg.  
She pushed a strand of copper hair out of her face, going over a line once more.  
Even by being a race prone to war, by how gentle and almost entrancing it set its tone, she highly doubted this had anything to do with it.  
She was about to pass to the next line when the comm device in the living room called out.  
Dropping everything, she quickly got up and jogged to it.  
The living room was lit brighter than the bunkroom, and so hurt her eyes for the smallest moment, but the discomfort was quickly ignored while reaching the table-like structure. attached to the wall. It had the chance to ring twice before she opened the channel.  
“Ashlilla. “As she expected, it was Grievous.  
Obi-wan just waved as a reply, leaning a bit closer to the communication device. Another found advantage, it seemed, is that Grievous didn’t seem to question why she didn’t speak, even if her voice restraint had been turned off since the first time she sung to him.  
“Me and my batallion have landed on a planet with a red sky.” He explained, looking up. Surely to look at the sky in question. “When it rains, the rain clouds aren’t dark enough to veil the atmosphere and it looks like the clouds are red as well.” He continued, coughing a bit under his breath. “I’ve seen a thunderstorm; when lightning strikes, the sky turns bright purple. It’s an interesting spectacle.”   
She nodded, showing she was listening as she laced her fingers together over the console.  
The woman had found, over the time she spent with him, a habit, which the woman would have never expected of Grievous; He talked. A lot.  
While out on mission, he’d comm her regularly to tell her about this and that. Sometimes it was how the mission was going terribly, but other times it was because he wanted to show her a thing he found or tell her about the planet, just like he was doing now.  
It was… almost endearing, dare she say.  
Well, as endearing as a huge, murder cyborg like Grievous could get.  
Obi-Wan assumed this kind of habit grew from being around droids all the time. Now that he had another sentient to talk to, it was probably too new and exciting in the cyborg’s mind to restrain himself from acting upon it.  
Not that she was complaining, it’s not like she had a busy schedule, stuck on the Invisible hand.  
“It reminded me of your dress.” He commented while looking around. The Jedi on the other end of the line looked at her clothes, the same burgundy dress she’d worn when the General bought her at the slave market.  
“If I were to buy you something purple, would wear it?”  
She looked back at the cyborg’s hologram, eyeing it curiously.  
Another new, unexpected action from her owner. She leaned just a little closer, her lips stretching to a smile.  
“This planet also has civilization. They make fabric. I could get some right now.” He explained, looking at something on his right.  
Obi-Wan wondered it if he was near a fabric vendor.  
She fiddled with the edge of her veil, thinking.   
At one time, it would be a bit dappy to get another set of clothes, considering she could get recued any day, now.  
But on another, the jeweled belt was kind of uncomfortable to sleep in, and not having any other set to wear, the beautiful ensemble started to smell.   
Not to mention, the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to know what style of clothes the cyborg would pick for her.  
She nodded, finally, looking back to the small holo-projection.  
With her schedule being so suddenly cleared by her purchase, Obi-Wan had started to think more about the General than she would ever publicly admit. She dismissed it as just a side effect of the cyborg being the only other somewhat organic she encountered for almost a week, now.  
The fact the General turned out to be so conversational didn’t help; It just amplified her curiosity every minute she spent with him. The cyborg was observant; Whenever he commed to show her some plant with curious traits or talk about a natural phenomenon, he could always back it up with somewhat of a scientific explanation.  
And it showed this wasn’t done from elitism, but genuine curiosity, because of his tendency to make sure she always understood what he talked about.  
Two days ago, he asked her if she knew about the carbon cycle, while talking to her about a tree, which of course, she did.   
She wasn’t sure how to describe the cyborg’s reaction, but it was a positive one. He went on to tell her all about how he believed the tree he’d found was not part of the carbon cycle.  
Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile at the memory.  
“Alright. I’ll give it to you when I come back.” The general said, before reaching for his belt. “Before I log out, I wanted to show you this.” He detached a lightsaber from it, raising it on front of him so Obi-Wan could see it clearly.  
The woman felt her mouth get dry as her smile drifted away.  
Most of the time, the objects the cyborg found were mostly little trinkets or a strange plant, but sometimes, he would show her a lightsaber he attained. The weapon always shoved her back to reality, reminded her this was war and of Grievous’ role in it:  
A Jedi killer.  
The weapon reminded her that she was a Jedi master, and that the man who commed her regularly while still on mission, which he probably wasn’t allowed to do, just to show her some weird plant he found, regularly killed her kind, and would kill her too, if he knew just who she was. Living in between the white walls of the General’s quarters made her forget about it all, too often.  
It shouldn’t tear her apart like it did, but there she was.  
“He was a Twi’Lek. Jedi scum didn’t even put up a fight; He just took his own life.” Grievous explained, sounding almost disappointed. “From what the Count told me, it’s shameful for Jedi to die this way.” He said, looking the metal device over.” Not anymore, it seems. This is the third one I collect this way.” He put the weapon back to his belt. “I’ll be back soon. We’ll see each other then.”  
And with that, he cut the transmission.  
The woman felt her hands grip the cold metal of the comm’s console, watching as the tip of her fingernails blanched under the pressure.  
She slowly kneeled, hands still on the console, as she put her forehead on the white wall in front of her. She closed her eyes.  
She, after so much time spent with him, truly started to see Grievous as a person. She learned, from what he told her, that he had wives before he bared his body of metal and circuits. He told her he couldn’t remember anything from them, except that he had ten, with who he bared many children, which half he remembered, died of disease and famine.   
He told her that before any of that, he had met someone else who he knew was important to him, but every time he tried to prod at the memories, he was left with such a dark, empty void he tried not to think of it too much.   
He told her the thing he could most vividly remember of Kalee was a ceaseless hunger.  
He told her so much, and for the very small amount he knew, it never ceased to change the woman’s point of view.  
Obi-Wan Kenobi wanted so badly to dismiss the cyborg as just another mindless killer, but Ashlilla, who had heard so much, whipped around and yelled at the General of the republic, with her broken, unused voice, that she must be wrong. She yelled so loud she could be heard over the crossfire, and her voice rumbled through the walls of the council chambers, muffling the endless debates of its attendees.  
Slowly, but surely, the Jedi in her was starting to speak like Ashlilla too. The General told them, almost emotionless, they were both naïve to think there was a reason behind Grievous’ doing. He killed so many, it was sport more than revenge at this point, this wasn’t excusable.  
He pressed her cheek to the cold wall, closing her eyes.  
Both sides had good points. Obi-Wan took a deep breath.  
She thought of Kalee.   
She never went there. She wondered how the planet looked like. Was it an endless desert, like Tatooine? Were there lakes? What was the color of the sky?  
For one who was thought to know very specific, sometimes useless things, she found she couldn’t answer any of these questions.  
She took her time getting back up and dragging herself back to the bunk.  
The woman threw herself on the dark sheets of the mattress, only sparing a glance to her holopad before looking up at the dimly lit ceiling.   
She closed her eyes, hoping she would just fall asleep.  
The next few minutes of still, endless silence protested.  
She sighed, letting her eyelids drift open to watch the ceiling once more.  
She thought back to the last time Grievous commed her, not even a day ago. He had found strange, red plants. He explained to her, while showing off a branch of it, that they might be a parasitic plant; they grew on the trees, around their branches.   
Her lips curled gently. Then again, he asked her if she knew what parasitic meant, before explaining anything else.  
Obi-Wan had recognized the plant immediately; it was climbing tea.   
Climbing tea was, as the General had suspected, a parasitic plant. It was a very peculiar plant, for the fact it didn’t use photosynthesis to feed itself, but instead ate residues from its host, as well as supplements of metal, which was what gave the leaves that bright, red pigment.   
On the market, it was extremely expensive, considering that you could only harvest them when hosting specific trees, lest it become poisonous, and that the tea did eventually kill the poor organism it attached itself to.  
It was also, from what the ginger heard, one of the best infused tea in the entire galaxy.  
She dreaded how much, at the time, she wanted to tell all of this to the cyborg.   
She dreaded even more the fact that if it wasn’t dangerous to talk, she would probably talk as much as the general did.   
Without realizing it, Obi-Wan started signing the kaleesh welcoming song under her breath, gripping the sheets around her tighter.  
She dreaded she wondered if, in another life, the two of them could have become friends.


	5. Night Shards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh hello there.  
> This chapter is... i don't know, a transition? for both changes of perspectives it was just something to ground things further whatever that means; I'm far away from someone who knows how to story write properly, so half the time I don't know what the fuck i'm talking about.  
> Enjoy anyways, and I just wanted to make a special shout-out to the ones who left kudos and comments again! thanks for enjoying my trash, I appreciate it.  
> anyhow, enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: This chapter features more weird flora I story built.   
> Man, Tolkien must've really did me in.

“We understand your need to find your master, Anakin, but leaving your padawan to man your fleet on the forty-fives jump is reckless.” Mace Windu’s projection scolded, General Skywalker’s featured unmoving.

“My fleet was closest in vicinity.” The brunette replied, crossing his arms. “Not to mention, Ashoka is more than capable of the job I assigned to her.”

“I do not question your padawan’s skills, rather your tendency to jump to action without thinking.” The korun frowned on the other end. “Though I do not agree with the system’s laws on slavery, I’m sure you’re more than aware that what you did is against Republican authority.”

“We treated a promise with the freed slaves they wouldn’t divulge they had outside help.” Countered the Jedi knight, frown growing deeper. “Besides, if I were to tell the council immediately, you would have tried to stop me and would have taken weeks to investigate. We got all the information available in four days.”

The Jedi master smacked his lips in annoyance, breaking their long-sustained gaze.  
“look.” He paused, as if searching for his words. “We’re on edge about Obi-Wan’s disappearance as well but guarding the forty fives route should be your primary goal right now. We don’t want something like the attack on Kamino to happen again.” He sighed. “Just forward what you’ve found to us and we’ll give it to the shadows.”

Anakin smiled faintly, satisfied with the arrangement. That was the only reason he’d shared the entire truth to Mace, after all, he wanted it to be forwarded to the shadows; they had a lot more leeway than he did. Now he only needed one last thing…

“All right but send Ashoka as well.” He replied in a straightforward tone.

A second passed in silence.

“Excuse me?”

“she’s fully briefed in the initial mission, as well was our mission to the headquarters. I’m sure her wide array of skills would come in handy.” Not only that, it would assure Anakin had someone he trusted on the rescue team.

The brunette’s smile grew wider in the expanding silence. Not only would it have its advantage to have Ashoka on the rescue team, she’d be perfect to regulate the searching party from interrupting Anakin’s true plan.

The Jedi master’s projection sighed heavily, caving in.

“Ask your padawan to get ready and join me on Coruscant before tomorrow.”

“She’s already on her way.” The brunette bowed slightly to the fading hologram.

He’d been lying when he said he had told Mace everything that had happened during their mission; At the Headquarters they’d overthrown, Waxer had stumbled upon an immense stash of spices.  
Enough to sway a certain pirate into hiring a few bounty hunters for him and to keep his mouth shut.  
Shadows? They found things quickly, sure. But bounty hunters? No one found something quicker than a bounty hunter, for the right price.

And that price, he could pay almost double over.

\--

Grievous came back four days after he'd shown her his new collection peice.

Though he commed her to declare he’d arrived, he didn’t come to his quarters immediately, which she expected; The cyborg just got back from a mission and probably had a ton of things to go over before even thinking about her.

The woman was glad, obviously, but why she nervously glanced at the quarter’s door every ten minutes or so, not so much.

General Kenobi reasoned it was for the sole purpose she would face an enemy of war, and the Jedi master, who quickly became a gray party fell in line with her as well, reminiscing the lightsaber.

Blue eyes frayed, reminded of the weapon before Ashlilla jumped up and refocused them onto the blue screen of light placed in her hands.

Laying in the bunk, like she usally did, Obi-Wan was reading an article about nycillin. The day after he showed her his new lightsaber, while the General showed her another strange plant, he pointed out how she must be bored, just practicing her dancing and learning songs all day, and so sent her some things for her to read.  
The gesture, though appreciated, of course, was surprisingly considerate of him.  
The General sneered, asked her if this detail was truly important, while it seemed the Jedi had decided to hear out the slave, taken aback by her allies’ sudden narcissism.

The day after, Grievous found some dark blue flower, and told her he’d bring her one to see in person, because, quoting the cyborg, the projection didn’t capture its glory well enough.  
And the day after that, when he commed her once more, he asked her if she’d like a pair of shoes.

“Humans have sensitive skin, I don’t want you to get hurt uselessly.” Was the explanation he’d given in reply to the questioning raise of her brow.

The General had gotten quite skilled at guessing what she meant just by her non-verbal reactions.

Is there a reason we’re not scared if this development? I’m sure we should fear it, warned the General in a sing-song.

Fear? Is that really a reaction befitting a Jedi? The Jedi master said, drawing annoyance from her military counterpart.

Ashilla, ignoring the two, just pointed out how Grievous took nearly two minutes to convince her in accepting his gift.

Obi-Wan wasn’t really used to getting gifts, as it wasn’t really part of the Jedi way in the first place; The only thing she’d been given by loved ones before was the rock her master had given her for her thirteenth birthday, and the navy colored veil her padawan had given her shortly after he was knighted, which she sadly had almost no occasion to wear.  
With that in mind, it came to no surprise that the sudden amount she was given left her feeling utterly spoiled, which she couldn’t decide if she saw it as hilariously embarrassing or horrifying, considering the person “spoiling” her was a war enemy, as General Kenobi referred endlessly.

Why did she even agree in the first place?

Because if we didn’t, we’d be in danger, The General replied, bitter.

That’s a lie. We’ve reclined it plenty of time, but anger wasn’t the reaction, the Jedi countered.

Ashlilla nodded, taking the latter’s side.

You are biased, slave. Your opinion has no weight, the military woman snapped. Because you’re-

The council of three fled away like animals as the sound of the quarter’s main door hissing open caught her ear.

Her heart nearly jumped out her chest as she crisped her holopad.  
Forcing herself to move, she pushed herself off the bed and fixed up her outfit. Her legs felt like mush and she realized, as she took a deep breath, that she was shaking.  
“Ashlilla?” The staticky voice of Grievous called from the living area, making her shoulders tense.

The woman breathed out, closing her eyes.  
She emptied her mind, grasping her hands together, pressing them to her chest.

General Kenobi and Jedi master Kenobi had faced against the deadly cyborg in the living room in battle that could have resulted in her death countless times.

But this, this wasn’t war. This was nothing like a lightsaber duel.

She raised her shoulders, taking another deep breath, thinking about the halls of a thousand fountain; the landscape, though only in mind, never failed to re-center herself.  
Without noticing, the first noted of the welcoming song left Obi-Wan’s lips. She sang the words precisely and surely, as if she’d spoken Kaleesh her entire life.

Slowly, she stepped to the doorframe leaving to the main living area, falling face to face with the General, who stood completely still from his position in front of the door. His golden gaze quickly locked in hers, silent as she progressed with the song.

Because she’d practiced it so much, she was able to sing it almost exactly like the recorded example that came along with the script. She proudly twisted and bent her voice through the complicated, guttural acrobatics of the song, swaying her hips faintly to fill the room with the chirp of the bells the man liked so much.  
She kept steady noticing the cyborg’s eyes had grown soft, birthing an inexplicable enthusiasm in her to apply to her performance.

As the song reached its climax, Grievous sunken eyes widened in a sort of excitement as she nailed the hardest part of the song, stilling her hips to ground it even further.  
She grinned as bright as a thousand stars under her veil, pride fluttering through her stomach.  
She’d work so hard to get that part right, she’d earn the right to show it off so dramatically.

Finally, the song came to its end, slowing down to a final, hushed halt.

The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, before the Cyborg skittered to her so quickly, she almost caved into the General’s wail to run the opposite direction like a frightened animal.

Before she could ponder on the option, however, the Cyborg grabbed her hands and intertwined them with her own, taking away her chance to escape.

Well, not really, his grip held no force. Her mind was the only thing trapping her on the spot. Not even the continued cries of panic from General Kenobi encouraged her to move away.

The military woman quickly went silent, however, when she felt Grievous let go of her left hand, reaching his hand to his belt, before presenting the found object to the woman.

A beautiful, dark blue flower, almost black. It was a lot larger than she has expected it to be when the cyborg showed it to her a few days ago.

“They’re called night shards.” He explained, dropping it gently in her hand. “they only show up during the day, despite their really dark pigment.”  
The small woman looked at the large flower in her hand, her palm only able to hold most of the sepal, and nothing else. Its petal was slightly ruffled at the edge, faintly fading to a lighter shade of blue, as did the stamens and pistil, which ruffled out similarly to the petals, at the end.

All in all, it was, as the general had described it, not shown in its true glory throughout the holoprojection; it was truly beautiful.

“Not only is it nice to look at,” The cyborg continued, her gaze settling in his. “It’s edible. The locals eat it like some sweet.”  
Her brow cocked, eyeing the plant curiously. Grievous let go of her other hand before she pinched a petal, dislodging it from amongst its sisters, bringing it underneath her veil and pressing it to her lips.

Though having a bitter undertone, it was sweet and perfumed, its flavor reminding the woman of something… distant.  
She frowned, trying to remember as she chewed.  
Something orange.

The little orange berries that grew on Stewjon.

She stilled her chewing as the memory unveiled in front of her, so old and cast away the woman almost felt it was the memories of another.

She saw a little boy, standing with her in a field, signing her a child’s song as he fed her fruit mush with a spoon.  
Her brother. She looked further, and she was now in a small room, which upon further inspection, was not a room at all, but a rugged, old tent in an alley. Though she was only there in mind, her soul shivered in the cold, looking down at the child laying in dirty blankets in front of her, trembling as he tried his best to sleep. Though he was obviously the one ill, she could feel someone press a spoon to her lips, tasting the orange berries on her tongue.  
She remembered that at that instant, she stared to cry.

A female voice cooed after her, trying to comfort her, but she only seemed to wail louder as the spoon tried to force more stewed berries in her mouth.

After a moment, her view shifted, and she was closer to the little boy she identified as her brother, feeling gentle fingers grip at her hands.  
A small fruit was placed in her hand and she had a hard time gripping it, as her hand was guided to the little boys’s mouth, pressing the little orange round to a corner of his lips.  
The little boy’s eyes slid open between his dark eyelashes and she recognized her eyes in his as he gave her the most exhausted smile she’d ever seen in her general life.

Once more, his voice little more than a croak, he sung her the children’s song, like he’d done in the fields.

And a voice called from the present.

“Ashlilla.” Her attention snapped to Grievous’ golden eyes, throwing her back into the General’s quarters Inside the Invisible Hand. “Are you all right?” He put a large hand on her shoulder, leaning closer.

It’s only as he reached a metal claw to wipe off her tears, she realised it was even there.  
She couldn’t remember a single moment she’d cried after Qui-Gon had been slain, until now.

The woman nodded, looking at the clean floor, where the flower was laying. She must have dropped it while she spaced out.  
The redhead looked away, however, when she felt lukewarm metal brush her fingers, finding the new tactile sensation to be Grievous’ hand, grasping her right hand with his own. Her gaze raised to meet with the general’s sunken eyes, looking away almost… embarrassingly?

“Forgive me.” He muttered, his eyes squinting in a frown. “I wouldn’t have brought it if I’d known it would have put you in this state.”

Obi-wan frowned, shifting to try to look the cyborg face to face, only for him to look up, away, which just made the woman’s brow ich closer together in confusion.

The cyborg would never, in her experience, put himself in the blame, no matter the circumstances. He had too broad of a pride for that.

She had been proven wrong on many things regarding Grievous while occupying his quarters, but for once, she hated it.

She hated it so much, in fact, that she decided, without weighing if it would put her in danger or not, to do something about it. unwavering, she took a hold of the droid’s arm and yanked him -as best as her lite form could influence his heavy metallic frame- to look at her, face to face.

She dropped to her knees, gripping the cyborg’s hand tightly as she did so, picking up the flower. As she straightened back up, the woman let the hand go to pull out another petal from the navy plant and shoved under her veil, in her mouth, as the General watched. She glared at him momentarily before pulling out another petal, pressing it to her thumb and raising her hand, trying to reach the other’s faceplate.

Without a word, the cyborg leaned down curiously, letting her reach him.  
She pressed the petal to the bottom corner of his faceplate, just underneath where she’d imagined his mouth would have been. The woman went back to glare at him, face to face, daring him to protest as she munched loudly at the piece of flower in her mouth.

After years of research on her home world, the gesture she’d done in her dream towards her brother was nothing new to her; it was an offering to the ones who couldn’t eat, whether because they couldn’t, or it was too late to attempt feeding them, or even, if they were ill. It was a gesture that showed you cared enough about someone to give up something that is necessary to you, but useless to them, for the sole purpose of the other’s comfort.

Golden eyes softened once more, making her glare melt off into a simple frown, and then to nothing.

“you wear your name well, Ashlilla.” He praised fondly, honestly as he reached for the thumb put on his face plate

Even without saying a word, it seemed the General understood her gesture. She watched as the large clawed hand pinched the navy petal, pressed at the beige durasteel, making it slide out from underneath her thumb.  
The cyborg turned the petal in between his fingers, taking in every little detail he could, before offering his other hand to her once more.

“Let’s walk. I want to show you something.” Grievous told her, gesturing to the quarter’s main door.

Once more, without thinking about her choice, Obi-Wan took the hand offered to her, letting the cyborg lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as some of you may know, Obi-Wan in canon dosen't actually have a bro, it was just Owen Lars, who he though was his brother in certain visions he had. In this, who Obi-Wan sees is her legitimate brother, just so there's no confusion. I wrote the flashback in before reading about Owen, and i liked it too much to change it.


	6. The Bounty Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow it's been 84 years, hello!  
> I would give you all an excuse as of why I wasn't updating but truly, I spent most my time writing a dozen other fics while stalling this one, and when I did I was never satisfied with what I got. So yeah. I re-wrote this like 20 times and it's not even that big a chapter :c  
> Happily I already fleshed out some ideas for the next one, so hopefully it'll come out faster.  
> As always, thank you to everyone who have left kudos! And a big special thank you for the comments, they're my sustenance.  
> Enjoy!

Four figures loomed around a table. None tried to strike conversation, though they all knew each other, from a distance. Bounty hunters avoided interacting before they knew they took a job. It wasn’t the kind of career you survived long if you liked being amicable. Only a rookie made that kind of mistake; none were rookies in here.

A pair of boots tapped against the floor, taking their attention. The one who was smoking spices rubbed it against the dirty counter, putting it out. The air still pestered of it, though to be honest, the room smelled of spices before the Zabrak even lit a joint.

The newcomer, A Weekway bearing his crimson coat, goggles and strange hat needed no introduction; Hondo Okhana, their employer to be.

“Gentlemen! Ah, and misses.” He declared, raising his hands up in greeting, bowing slightly to the rodian at the front row. Her face wasn’t visible behind that muzzle, but her annoyance was palpable in the air.  
No one liked working for the drunk pirate, but a job with quite the large sum stapled to it made someone more… flexible.

“I’m sure you’re all impatient to hear more details on this job, so I’ll keep it short and sweet.” The pirate continued, clasping his hands together. “But! after a last-minute call, it seems the contract has been modified.” All present groaned in annoyance, the small mandalorian sitting in the back hit his heel on the table and the trandoshian at his side hissing in discontent. The rest joined into the noise, ranting to their employer.

The weekway asked for silence but was ignored.

“I got a more profitable deal! Do you blame me?” He said, raising his hands in defense. “Besides, three of you still get the job with this new arrangement.” The pirate pointed out. This let out to more ranting and insults from the mouths of the guests, making Hondo drop his hands in defeat.

“Argh, fine.” The weekway spat under his breath, turning to reach the door.

“Hey! Don’t leave now!” The rodian shouted, quickly joined by her fellow bounty hunters.

Hondo just knocked on the door before stepping aside, letting the door slide open to reveal a tall, looming figure.

He, much like everyone else present, needed no introduction. In these times, you’d have to be quite secluded, or a complete tart no to know of Embo.

The four went silent in an instant, all eyes on the newcomer, who stepped in the room in complete silence.  
He stopped right in front of the table, presenting a holo projector in his palm to the guests, lighting up to reveal the projection of a cloaked figure.

“Welcome, you all.” The figure greeted. He was male, by his voice.

The hunters replied with silence.

“As my… representative might of told you, there were changes to the deal.” The four eyed each other. They all somewhat knew Hondo wouldn’t be their sole contractor, as it was unlikely the weekway would give out this amount of credits willingly, but the cloaked man wasn’t what they anticipated

His voice was smooth. Young sounding. Most likely a rich man whose young bride ran away; it wasn’t uncommon in this kind of deal. What was uncommon, however, was the fact the pirate was helping him. Did he owe him a favour?

“Embo here reached us a bit late. But, after some negotiating, he convinced me to hire him. Naturally, he’ll be filling one of your spots.” Some voiceless groans from the audience, but no outcries, unlike previously. The cloaked figure paused, as if searching his words. “I’m going to be frank; of everyone in this room, Embo’s the one I trust the most to handle this job. So, seeming I’m not a bounty hunter, he’ll sort you-”

Without a second of hesitation, the kyuzo raised a blaster, aimed it at the rodian, and before any of them could do anything, punched a blaster shot through her head.

The three still alive stood up, away from the smoldering body draped across its chair while keeping a healthy distance from the armed bounty hunter, lest he decide to fire again.  
“Ah.” The projection said, somewhat unimpressed. “Well, that was faster than I anticipated.” He commented, rubbing his hands together.

He was as clueless to Embo’s solution as the rest present. This reassured the hunters.

Almost.

“…Well, no matter; Now that the entire party is present, Hondo will lend you a comm each.”The pirate got the cue and stepped to the table. Shuffling his pockets, he handed out the devices.

White, military grade.

The three remaining snuck glances, the omnious feeling of trouble rearing the corner settling between them.

The Mandalorian took a single step and Embo aimed his blaster towards him.

The trandoshian shoved the small man behind him, hissing under his breath threateningly.

“Please.” The cloaked figure spoke up, annoyed. “I haven’t even finished the briefing, yet.”

The room fell silent once more.

“The comms hold all the information we were able to gather about where your target has gone. There might be updates in the future, so don’t be surprised if the data bank grows.” The man bat a hand in the air, as if just remembering something. “Oh! Also, one last detail.”

The three surrounding the table didn’t say a word. the Zabrak lowered his hand from his own comm, which he was about to open.

“I am in a position to hand out… certain favours, if I learn the target was well treated.” The man explained casually. “If I am most pleased with her treatment, I might even grant some of you full pardons onto Republican grounds.”

Muffled gasps thrummed in the little room. Suddenly, this deal was worth a colleague’s dead body. A lot more, in fact.

“now that everything is settled,” The hologram clasped his hands. “Let me introduce you to your target; she goes by Ben.”

**

Grievous had kept Ashlilla close, his soft grip on her hand a constant pressure as they had walked through the long corridors, encountering a droid patrol here and there.

Whenever they did, the small fingers in his own had clutched to him just a bit tighter. She was uneased, it was obvious, but the cyborg couldn’t fully grasp a reason; The woman was intelligent enough to recognize this was his ship and so recognize the droids were harmless to her.

Maybe she doubted his authority.

Irritation sparked through him, his filtered breaths catching in his lungs.

A weak thing could not think of him like that.

He glanced down at the small woman. He was in the process of showing of a hangar when his thoughts trailed off; the largest one, where the vulture droids were docked.

He should remind her who he was; he was powerful, a general. Reminding her she was nothing in comparison; a weak, pretty thing. A doll. He would teach her not to ignore his position and respect him-

His sensors suddenly reminded him of the warm fingers lodged between his. Shifting his gaze to their interlocked hands, he noticed that though his growing frustration, his finger joints had tensed straight. Still, their hands were joined. She clung to him all on her own.

His Golden eyes drifted to blue eyes. They skimmed over the resting starfighter droids, observing their long, thin wings curiously.

Those eyes weren’t the color of Kaleesh’s oceans, nor its sky. But so familiar…

Without noticing, his anger dissipated, softening his volatile conclusions.

No, her unease surely had a correlation with the incident. His mistake had frayed her trust in him.

He did try to sincerely apologize, but the gesture made her angry and she clearly expressed she didn’t want him to do that ever again. This was unexpected; from what he’d observe before, humans appreciated verbal apologies.

Maybe less so than he had initially believed.

The cyborg looked at their entwined fingers. He was surprised, but also a bit disappointed in his observational skills to just realize the small hand in his counted only five fingers.

Humans were complicated. He couldn’t count the amounts of times it had peeved him; they cared about so many useless details but so little about important ones.

Observing the pale digits, he noted of how they were slightly pink at the joint, a hint of life from underneath her skin.

Such delicate skin.

He noted the rings placed on her fingers tinted it slightly green in places.

He had the displeasure of remembering the greedy slaver harpy of Mygeeto’s slave market.  
Cheap accessories. He never bothered with jewelry much, but he took close to personal offense Ashlilla paraded around in them. He was near certain he could find a higher quality metal in the Invisible Hand’s trash compactor.

He paused.

Who was he kidding, that thing was full of military grade heaps of metal; he would definitely find thrice as better in there.

The cyborg pulled from his daze as his sensors picked up a slight increase of warmth in his hand. Ashlilla had squeezed it with her own and looked up at him expectantly.

Without a word, the cyborg gently led her back inside the corridor from where they’d access the viewing balcony, then turning to a left.

They would miss the jump out of hyperspace if they loitered for too long. It would be unfortunate to miss it, as it was the ultimate reason why he had taken her out of his quarters.

A small jerk in his workings made his shoulders jump as he thought of Sereeno. knew the planet had given him quite an impression when he himself saw it from orbit for the first time. So, he had no doubt the copper haired woman would also react strongly when she’d finally face it.

He desired to be right at her side when that would happen.

Reaching a spacious elevator, Grievous hailed it to their floor from the interactive device attached to its frame.

His previous calm mood was suddenly tarnished by the fact the elevator had taken this day out of every other day not to respond immediately.

Static Rasping rung in the air. He pressed a bouton once more, with a bit more pressure than was necessary.

Happily, the box of scrap metal responded immediatley after that. Content, he guided the woman at his side inside before inserting the code for the command center.

As the doors hissed shut, his mind wandered to Sereeno. It would surely give the redhead another landscape to look at than the white, sterile walls of his quarters. If there was one thing he knew about humans, it was that they grew easily bored when faced with a simple and repetitive pattern. Not even the high-and-mighty Count could resist it for too long, though the General refrained from voicing this observation aloud.

Grievous wondered am moment why he cared, but the more he thought about it, he realised he worried Ashlilla would eventually grow bored of him. The fact a natural behaviour he couldn't control discomforted him.

He thought of it some more and concluded his worries were unfair; Grievous could grow bored of her as well. Kaleesh weren’t the most patient of sentients.

He twitched. He hadn't lived with the woman long, but the thought he very much could tire of her unsettled him.

Suddenly, the elevator rattled. A minuscule gasp was heard, followed by the sensation of arms clinging onto him. Peering down, the disturbance was revealed to be Ashlilla, holding herself onto him for leverage. She obviously wasn’t accustomed to elevators as quick as those.  
Restlessness flourished in his guts as he suddenly grew very frustrated by the fact the woman was so small.  
He remembered his many wives. It was a blur, but he knew even they bore more strength than that little body. He knew also they weren’t hunters, all of them.  
Human physiology was so naturally weak, he thought; they were so light the air in their lungs would keep them afloat in masses of water. Their skin tear almost constantly, and their limbs broke so often they might as well be made of glass.

How did they even manage survival?

Bells softly chirped through the air. As if on instinct, the cyborg reached down to better stabilize the woman, even if she had mostly recovered herself.

He could feel in his workings something very akin to the instinct of protection that lingered in his mind whenever he thought of his wives. Maybe this was what reminded him of Kalee.

As soon as it flourished, he shook it off.

The bell sung.

Not his wives, no. Ashlilla required a lot more protection.

The elevator decelerated and with a final rattle and thump, stopped completely.

Even if the stop was smooth, the woman at his side still faintly hovered above the floor because of it.

Suddenly, the restlessness came back, feeding him imagery of the human woman being taken away by the Serrenian breeze.

Irrational thoughts, he scolded himself.

Still, that annoying jerk remained.

Opening with a loud hiss, the elevator door revealed a circular room, dimly lit in dark red and the bright screens of the command stations.

He gently led the redhead forward, paying no attention at his super battle droid’s lingering gaze.

Juniper was better programmed than to say anything, so he didn’t usher a word.

Grievous peered down to Ashlilla, trying to grasp her reaction through the dramatic lighting.

Interestingly, she didn’t look through the immense window of the command room first, like he’d anticipated she would, but rather the surrounding machinery and control panels. The fact everything was controlled by machines seemed more interesting than the panorama of extended blue lights outside, to her.

“This is the control room.” He explained, gesturing around before guiding her to the center of the room. “We’ll be out of hyperspace shortly.”

They stilled halfway between the frontal glass and the back of the room, near his seat, bolted at the center. From that height, any observer was parallel to the glass and wouldn’t miss the peripheral view.

All the while, Juniper crossed the room, prowling closer to the pair than Grievous knew was necessary.

He was not so well programmed after all, he thought.

Taking Ashlilla’s attention with a gentle tap to the shoulder, he pointed to the droid in question, who stilled when realizing he was the new topic of conversation.

“This is Juniper.” Grievous introduced, looking down at the woman to catch her reaction.

“Greetings madam.” Juniper monotonically introduced himself. The redhead, like everything else she’d been shown today, scanned him thoroughly.

A few seconds was all it took for her to finish her examination. Before Grievous could voice out an order to leave them, she raised a hand and waved at the droid in greetings.

As if not expecting the woman’s gesture, the droid stood still for a moment. A second later, he raised his own hand and mechanically waved back.

Ashlilla squeezed the cyborg’s hand, holding his gaze in amusement.

It suddenly reminded the cyborg of the fact he’d complained about the droid to this exact woman before. She remembered, it seemed.

“Will that be all, sir?” Juniper asked, suddenly reminding the cyborg he was still there.

“Yes, get back to work.” He ordered, waving the droid away with his free hand. The droid hadn’t needed to be asked twice

With the droid gone, Ashlilla shifted her gaze to the window.

“Sir, we’re going out of hyperspace.” Grievous watched as she whipped around, scanning the room for the operator who’d spoken up. Her search was interrupted, however, as the streaks of light outside the main window shortened, before stilling to points in the void. The stars, however, were quickly outshined by the immense planet that framed itself at the stark middle of the deck’s panoramic view.

Blue eyes gleamed in hues of grey and red, taking every detail of the large object.

Sereeno.


End file.
